


Defining Characteristics

by calic0kitt3n (calico_kitten)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Hermione Granger, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Happy Ending, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Mildly Dubious Consent, Not Epilogue Compliant, Severus Snape Lives, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:40:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27489733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calico_kitten/pseuds/calic0kitt3n
Summary: Hermione Granger is 28, doing impressive things and making brilliant discoveries, but finds that there is something or rather some ONE who is missing from her life. The problem is he's dead. Or so the stories go.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 16
Kudos: 185





	Defining Characteristics

**Author's Note:**

> These characters are the property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just having a bit of fun. ;)  
> This thing is un-beta'd and quickly edited.

At nearly thirty years old, Hermione Granger had already made life-saving discoveries and was one of the wizard’s world’s leading scientists. But by far the most inexplicable thing she’d done was to fall in love with the memory of Severus Snape. It crept up on her over the years, slowly and unbidden. After two years of effort in trying to restore her parents’ memories, she was forced to give up and, in doing so, gave up on her floundering relationship with Ron as well. Instead, she poured herself into research, working in one of the darkest corners of the Department of Mysteries. Rumour had it that it was so that someone could keep an eye on her and no one in the St Mungo’s research facilities was up to it. The years slowly passed and by the time she was twenty-six, she’d received no less than seven awards for innovative potions. And still she kept going. Some of her experiments were even unknown to her superior.

It was over the course of her intense study of the wizarding sciences that she had grown to appreciate the exactitude of her late Potions professor and the innovation that he had brought to his own brewing methods. There was a time or two when she wished she’d had the Half-Blood Prince’s textbook to mull over and considered going back in time to confiscate it before it disappeared. And it was that very pondering about time travel itself that led her on a crash course that for all she knew could change everything in her adult life: she was going to try to save Severus Snape.

It was true that his body was never found. Only a marker stood where he should have been buried with the others. But she had seen him die, along with Harry. At the time, she couldn’t have felt just how tragic a thing it was. Even when the truth came out about Snape, she still bristled at how he had treated his students, how positively indifferent he was about her. At least Harry had his hatred. All she got was contempt by association. And he knew. He _knew_ that she was a bloody good student. He just didn’t care. But over the years, those feelings were slowly eroded and in their place was built over time a fondness and a yearning to truly know the man behind all of the masks. 

It was nearing the ten year anniversary of the battle and everyone was going to be Hogwarts for a special ceremony to remember the sacrifices that made the victory possible. The moment Hermione received the invitation, she began putting her plan into place as carefully as she could.

She had asked for permission to come to Hogwarts early, on the pretense of needing some time there to herself before the crowds arrived. Minerva was still Headmistress, though in her last year, and was only too pleased to invite Hermione for tea the day before the event. She’d grown to become the mother that Hermione had lost and the two of them were in close confidence. Even then, Hermione did not tell her the real reason for her arrival on that day.

It was evening and the sun was setting over the Forbidden Forest. Hermione watched from the window of her guest room, taking in the sight. Tea with Minerva had been exactly what she had needed and she looked forward to when the two of them could meet elsewhere, without the strain of Hogwarts resting on the elderly woman’s shoulders. She had a small satchel over her shoulder, modified Time Turner around her neck, and wand in hand. With a simply movement, she cast a spell over her own face that would obscure her entire visage from nose upwards, making her look as though a haze had settled around her face. She cast another one, straightening her long curls into benign waves and pulled it back into a low ponytail. As a final bit of preparation, she pulled Harry’s cloak from her trunk and slipped it over herself with practiced ease. It was good of him to lend it to her without question. If this worked the way she hoped, she would be once more in his debt.

She cast a Muffliato over herself and made her way through the darkening corridors, down to the dungeons where the Potions classroom lay and, with a bit of luck, would find it completely empty. Minerva had told her that the staff were having a meeting that evening, so she knew that at least the professor would be out. It had been years since she had taken this path, but her feet still knew the way. A Revelio showed there was no one about and she crept into the classroom, locking it behind her. 

She swallowed nervously. This was the part where everything could go horribly wrong. She’d left a note at her apartment, just in case. She turned the Time Turner slowly, adjusting the gauge on the side for years rather than hours and felt herself spin rapidly back through time while rooted to a dark corner of the Potions classroom, all the way back until the night before the Battle of Hogwarts. In truth, she didn’t even know if Snape would be in or if, worse, the Carrows would be as well. She castMuffliato once more and peered about in the torchlit gloom. Someone was in the room just beyond. She crept closer and listened. The sound of water running. A shower, perhaps? She let herself in and relocked the door, her silent charmwork another feat that she thought so little about. The apartment was empty aside from whoever was showering in the bathroom. She assumed it was Snape. She hoped sincerely that it was. She did a quick look around, but she didn’t have long to wait. Minutes later he exited the bathroom wrapped in a terry robe and went into his bedroom. Her breath caught in her throat. It was now or never. Pulling the Invisibility Cloak off and stuffing it into her satchel, she steeled her nerves and knocked on his bedroom door.

“Severus?” she called tentatively. She hoped that he wouldn’t recognise her voice. She would doubtless be the last person he expected, and ten years older at that.

“What is it?” he snarled, flinging open the door, wand in hand.

He squinted at her in the dim light, taking in the cut of her decidedly Muggle dress which hinted at things without necessarily putting it all on display. It was still far more racy than what any self-respecting witch would wear.

“I don’t know who you are, but I don’t have time for your stupid games,” he griped.

“Please, I only need a moment of your time. It’s urgent,” she begged. She felt so stupid. Pleading with a volatile Snape just before all hell was about to explode at the school.

“You have one minute,” he bit out.

“I have something for you. It’s… it’s from Albus,” she lied. “He wanted me to give it to you sooner, but it wasn’t ready in time.”

His eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“Show me your face and maybe I‘ll believe you.”

“I can’t!” she whimpered. He had grabbed her arm, digging his fingers into the flesh. She’d have bruises tomorrow for sure. If she made it back for tomorrow. “Please, it’s in my bag.”

He cast about for hexes but found none. He pulled her into the room and locked it.

“Take the bag,” she offered. “See for yourself.”

Keeping one eye on her, he pulled the bag away from her side just enough to peer into its contents. He pulled out Potter’s robe with a sneer.

“You see, I’ve come from the Order. Why else would I have that?” she bargained. It was a compelling argument, but he was still suspicious. He hadn’t stayed alive this longing by doing anything less.

“What’s this?” he asked, examining the smaller pouch inside.

“Medicine. For you.”

“I’m not ill.”

“No, but you might. It’s blood replenishers, coagulant serum, and anti-venom. You’re to keep the pouch hidden on you at all times.”

“Anything else?” he drawled, dangerously close.

“That’s… that’s all,” she stuttered. After all this time, he still unnerved her.

“I wonder why Albus would send a witch such as yourself. Obviously skilled enough in magic to hide who you are and yet you go about parading in Potter’s cloak.” At that moment, she was glad she’d thought to conceal the Time-Turner as well.

“I volunteered.” Her breathing was increasing irregular as he drew ever closer.

“Volunteered to go into the heart of the snake pit to deliver emergency medicines.” His sardonic reply was just as she remembered. It helped her grow bolder just then. 

“You’re worth saving, Severus.”

At that, his eyes flicked habitually to where her own would be and, finding nothing but haze, drifted to her mouth. Her lips were parted as she watched emotions flicker subtly across his face: doubt, anger, curiosity.

“And why,” he breathed alongside her face, “am I worth saving, witch?”

“Because we’re going to win the war and because a future without you in it is heartbreaking.” Merlin and Morgana, since when had she become such a sentimentalist?

“I doubt I will be missed.”

“You will be by some.”

“Would you be among them?”

“Merlin, yes,” she sighed and drew him into a kiss that she could only hope he would return. And return he did, raw passion unleashing as his lips consumed her own, his hands groping her arse. As he broke their kiss, in a quick movement she slid the Time Turner from her neck and sealed it into her pouch before taking the bandolier strap off her person and leaving it on a nearby table.

“In that case,” he rumbled, guiding her to the bed, “I suppose I’ll have to take precautions.” One hand parted her legs while another massaged her breasts, her dress riding up to reveal she had nothing underneath, not even a bit of hair covering her naked flesh.

“I assume you’ve taken some as well?” he queried as his fingers dragged along her wet center.

“Yes, of course,” she moaned, her fingers reaching around the knot in his belted robe.

“Fuck, this is the best present Albus has ever thought to send. Are you sure he was the one who sent you?”

“I told you, I volunteered. But yes, he sent me. I’m not sure he was prepared to deny me.”

“You seem the determined sort of witch,” he said in admiration as his forefinger slipped into her heat.

“You’ve no idea,” she mewled, shrugging the thin straps of her dress down over her shoulders. He helped her pull it down, greedily eyeing the newly exposed flesh. He withdrew his finger from her and pushed her back further on the bed and crawled over her, tasting her neck, her collarbone, and the top of her décolletage.She gripped at his long damp hair, cataloguing the clean scent of vetiver and how silky it felt between her fingers. He wrenched the front of her dress down further and feasted on her glorious breasts like a starved man. She took the opportunity to at last undo the knot holding his robe closed and he sat up with a jerk. She slid her fingers along his scarred torso. It was somewhat how she’d imagined, a smattering of dark hair along his chest that was littered in scars, old and new. She wished she had the time to memorise them all. His eyes watched as her fingers tenderly traced some of them.

“Hideous, isn’t it?” he drawled.

“You’re more handsome than I imagined, Severus.”

“You’re full of shit.”

Bristling, she pulled her dress further down, exposing her own various scars across her torso and baring her neck. “Souvenirs of living.”

His eyes widened slightly. Her own drifted down to where his semi-hard cock was needing some obvious attention. She sat up and knelt before him, taking his thick member in hand. All she could think about was how glorious it would feel splitting her open. Without hesitation, her tongue darted out and swirled around the head. He groaned and she did it once more, drawing him in slowly into her mouth.

“Fu-uck,” he growled. “Do that again.”

Hermione continued licking and sucking the end of his cock as she felt it continue to swell in her hand.

After several minutes, he pushed her backwards, her head landing on his feather pillows. He knelt over her, his cock now firmly jutting out. 

“I think it’s time I give your little pussy a souvenir of my own. Do you think she would like that?” He kissed her again and she darted her tongue out, seeking his own, wanting to taste him in yet another way. She would memorise it all, lock it away. There would never be another wizard like this in her life. Their tongues dueled while his hands never stopped squeezing, touching, pulling, stroking any part of her body they came across. Her own fingers were firmly around his hips, hanging on to him as if her life depended on it. He sat up at last and looked her over once more.

“I wish I could see your damned face. This is absurd.”

“It’s for your own good,” she sighed. “Now fuck me, you impossibly sexy wizard.”

Apparently that was enough to convince him, or he was simply dumbfounded by her proclamation, but in either case he lined himself up and slid into her velvet heat, both of them eliciting a groan. He’d known she was already slick, but this feeling, her tight walls gripping his cock, was nearly enough to make him blow his load right then and there. It was with slow, deliberate strokes that he was able to move beyond the initial burst of pleasure in search of something deeper. He reached down and slowly teased her little bud, delighted as soft whimpers fell from her swollen lips.

“Yes, witch, let me hear how good it feels to be skewered on my cock.”

“So good, Severus,” she panted as she clenched down.

“Fuck, witch. Do that again and we’ll be done early and I have no intention of ending this so soon.”

She giggled and relaxed on him slightly. “Harder then.”

He jerked his hips faster, pistoning into her as he held her legs against his chest. He hadn’t enjoyed himself like this for ages. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have thought he had died and went to some glorious afterlife he’d never heretofore imagined. She’d slipped a hand from him down to her belly and began playing with her clit and he could feel her building by the slight fluttering of the walls around his cock. 

“Go ahead,” he grunted. “Come for me. Come around my cock while I pound into that sweet pussy.”

“Severus,” she whimpered.

“That’s it, girl. That’s a good girl. You let me keep filling your tight cunt while you milk my cock. Come for me,” he crooned.

She shattered around him, hard, panting and whimpering and wishing it would never stop.

“Good girl. Now I want you to turn over on your belly, arse up.”

She slowly turned over after he pulled out of her, his slick cock glinting in the candlelight. Gods above, she had a beautiful arse. When this damned war was over, he was going to find this witch again and give her bottom the attention it deserved. He gave it a small slap all the same, eliciting a diminutive yelp. If he could have gotten any harder, he was sure the sight of her arse jiggling and her little cry would have done the job.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he sighed. “This is not over after tonight, witch.”

“Good,” she replied cheekily. 

He lined himself back up and slid into her slick folds once more, recommencing his assault on her sodden pussy. It felt different at this angle and she still seemed to be enjoying herself if the words tumbling from her mouth were any indication. He found himself winding a hand in her ponytail at some point and pulling her back against him in a searing kiss while he continued to pound her from behind. Her walls fluttered around him and he could feel his balls tightening.

“Yes, good girl. Are you ready for me to coats your walls with my come? For me to mark you as mine forever? Because I don’t share, witch.”

“Fuck, yes. And I’ve been yours for years now,” she panted.

“Then fucking come for me. Prove that you’re mine.”

She felt the wave crest in her and cried out as she fell apart once more. This time he followed her down, filling her with hot come until he was completely spent, collapsing on top of her. He shifted a moment later, not wishing to crush her. As he pulled away, slipping out of her, he noticed a tattoo on her left shoulder blade. It was nothing overly remarkable, a small simple poppy, like the ones the Muggles wear to remember their own fallen. 

She turned toward him and drew him into a kiss once more.

“It’s settled then,” he hummed. “When this bloody war is over…”

“Shhh,” she whispered. “One more kiss.”

He let himself be guided by her gentle caresses over his body, her lips loath to fully part from his own. He _would_ find out who she was. He now had a clue, however small it was.

“I’m afraid I have to go,” she said after a time. They’d been lying on their backs for several minutes, catching their breath and talking quietly.

“Promise me,” he whispered as she made to sit up.

“I promise.” She gave him a sad smile and pulled her dress back on and began gathering the rest, pouch, cloak, shoes. He rose and followed her to the door to his chambers.

“I’ll see myself out from here,” she nodded. “Best if I’m not spotted.”

He leaned down for one last kiss.

“Alright. Be safe.”

She nodded. “Please. Keep that kit with you.”

Something flickered across his face once more. He could sense the uncertainty rolling off of her. She was certainly afraid for him. That much was clear.

“I will,” he answered softly. She cast a wandless Muffliato over her and pulled the cloak over her form and she disappeared from view. Soundlessly, she fished out the Time Turner and slipped it around her neck. The moment his chamber door was closed, she went back to the corner and turned it once more, in the opposite direction this time and left her heart there in the past.

When the room stopped spinning, Hermione found that she was still in the Potions classroom. She slipped out her wand and cast a spell, checking the date and time. It had worked! She was a genius! But in lieu of celebrating, she slunk back to her rooms and quietly contemplated if she’d done the right thing.

* * *

The ceremony the following day went on as usual. The list of names was ever the same. She made it through to the end without needing more than three tissues, a new record. She’d stupidly searched the faces of the crowd, but of course he wasn’t there. Feigning a need to be alone, she slipped away from her friends afterward, being sure to return Harry his cloak, thanking him for it profusely. If she gained nothing else, she’d had at least one night with the man who now guarded her heart, be he alive or dead.

It was two months later when she finally went on a small vacation to a lonely Muggle town by the coast. One evening she found herself in the local pub, dressed like the Muggles that were likewise there on vacation, long, strappy summer dresses and sandals. Her wand was tucked into a hidden pocket along her thigh. A man walked up behind her to order himself a whisky sour when suddenly he grabbed her from behind.

“Where the hell have you been?” She knew that voice. Panic flooded her features as she turned and looked into the face of a shocked Severus Snape. He blinked and took a step backwards.

“Everything alright?” inquired the man at the bar.

“Fine,” she quipped. “Just a bit of shock after running into an old friend.”

She raised her eyebrows meaningfully and Snape motioned for her to follow him to a corner booth. He let her slide in and then sat on the same bench, blocking her in.

“What the actual fuck, Granger?”

“Excuse me?”

“You thought you were so damned funny, didn’t you? Sneaking into my room, trying to—“

She boldly reached over and put a finger to his lips, stilling him for a brief moment.

“It wasn’t meant to be funny, Professor, er, Severus,” she answered awkwardly.

“Who the hell do you think you are, carrying on like that, lying to me just to… just for what?”

“To save you,” she answered quietly.

“And when the hell did you get that Muggle tattoo?”

She eyes widened, suddenly understanding. 

“Five years after the war was over.”

“Five… So that wasn’t you then,” he murmured

“It was me, but me _now_ as opposed to me _then_. You see?”

“And then I had to wait ten years to see if you were actually real," he continued. "I could hardly put a notice in the Prophet, could I? Not with everyone thinking me _dead_.”

“I’m sorry. I ruined everything, didn’t I?”

“Ruined?" He gave a strange laugh. "No, my life has never been easier without people giving me death glares or doubting if I ever spoke a word of truth. I’d already made contingency plans in case it all went south. And in truth I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for your little medical kit.” He paused, his lips twisted in a wry smile. “Of course it would be you, wouldn’t it?”

“I— what?”

“Guilt ridden Hermione Granger mucking up the past to make up for her failures.”

“That’s not why I did it.”

“Then tell me.” His dark eyes bored into hers the way they used to when she was but a child. It was still intense, but there was something else in it, too. Something that wasn’t there before: he needed something from her.

And so she told him. Told him what she could of her research, of how it made her grow in appreciation of him, of how she’d wished she’d had his book and how, finally, she had grown to respect and love him in her own way. His expression softened slowly as she spoke, understanding slowly dawning on him. He knew full well what it was to live with unrequited love. What it was like to know that the other person was gone. What he couldn’t understand was how he had become the object of anyone’s affection, though he knew full well from their encounter that she wasn’t bluffing. And leave it to Hermione Granger to find the only loophole in the narrative. You can only bring back a dead person if no one was truly sure if they’d died or not. It wasn’t a fixed event and thus she was free to change it. There would be other consequences, but life was never free of those. 

“I’m so sorry,” she concluded, her voice choked with emotion.

“But did you keep your promise?” His voice was so quiet she was barely sure she’d heard correctly.

“I did,” she whispered back.

“Good,” he murmured and pulled her into a kiss, similar to the last one they had shared but this time much sweeter because there was no war hanging over their heads. And because he knew the truth.

“I should have known, from the moment you pulled out Potter’s cloak.”

“You could hardly have been expecting me from ten years in the future.”

“I don’t know. That’s seems the very sort of thing a swot like yourself would pull off.” But his smile told her that he meant it in the very best way.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this little tale!  
> It's a tough time right now for so many. Be kind to others and take care of yourself. :)  
> I apologise to readers who are waiting for me to finish not one but two stories plus an epilogue that's been languishing, half-written, for several months. I promise that I'm working on them all, just not at the pace I managed over the summer. <3  
> Let me know what you thought of this one in the comments.


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